


Arya's bedside

by Pecidedlydale



Series: A Song of Scenes we'd like to see [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Brotherly Love, Concerned Gendry, Jon Snow Knows Something, POV Gendry, Post-Episode: s08e03 The Long Night, Protective Jon Snow, Protective Older Brothers, The Long Night
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-09
Updated: 2019-05-09
Packaged: 2020-02-28 23:19:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18766357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pecidedlydale/pseuds/Pecidedlydale
Summary: A scene from the fallout of the long night if that battle had gone anywhere in the region expected. A Gendry Jon scene essentially.





	Arya's bedside

_But my heart was colder when you'd gone_  
_And I lost my head but found the one that I love_

 

Arya lay still. Stiller than he’d ever witnessed in the time she’d travelled beside him, fuelled with the power of unchecked rage and always pushing their party forward, stiller yet than the tranquil shadow she’d become since, prowling the walls of Winterfell with a cat-like grace that didn’t fit the picture he still held of the child that wrestled him recklessly back at Acorn Hall.

There was a heavy oak seat in the corner of the room. He dragged it slowly closer to her bedside, the sound strangely disturbing the other figures in room as though it had been cloaked in silence, but the noise had barely intruded on the din of movement that was the current constant backdrop of the hall. The din of make-shifts cots being dragged together and grown men flung on them to be nursed. The din of moans and worse being pulled from their throats as parts were cut and stitched and burned away.

They were in an antechamber apart from the rest of the fallen, just three quiet injured in here, all unconscious and no doubt all high born too. The privacy of grief tends to be afforded folk in their own castle. A throat cleared behind him and he started at the memory that he hadn’t come in alone. He should have offered the seat to Jon at once, if he’d been thinking clearly, not pulled it across his path and set it beside her ready to sit. He pulled back, nodding in the direction of the chair as open invitation to his… king? Leader. Brother in arms?

“M’lord.” He coughed, gesturing at the seat and then away as he fumbled through his embarrassment.

“No. No, you sit.” Jon’s voice was gravelled and he looked just as awkward as his eyes skittered away from his sister’s frozen frame.

“I...” Jon hesitated before he spoke again, like he wasn’t used to words yet, like his voice wasn’t ready to stop screaming. “I didn’t know you knew her.”

Gendry sat then, turning his back to Jon who didn’t seem inclined to come any closer.

“I knew her.” He spoke dully. “It’s been a long time now since I knew her.”

He was looking at her face, bruised and bloodied and grey as ash.

“We walked the Kingsroad together, the day your father died. Yoren took me for the wall and he took her for safety I guess. She was called ‘Arry then.” He noticed this last part came at a whisper and willed himself more strength than that.

She was covered in rough cotton strips from the waist up as though someone had looked to dress her in wounds. The ones across her chest and waist were light in colour, dirtied in places and brown in others, but light enough to look hopeful. But her arm, the one wrapped up from hand to shoulder, those strips were soaked in yellow, with darker patches of brown and worse of stark, seeping red.

“You were close?” Jon’s voice was softer now as he approached the other bedside, pulling up a stool to face Gendry across her silent form.

Gendry looked him in the eye then. Saw a look on his face of earnest interest.

“Suppose we were.” He conceded, nodding his head lightly. “I reminded her of her brothers.”

He knew that much at the time.

“She was going to Winterfell.” He continued, when Jon didn’t seem inclined to speak “Until Robb moved, then she was heading for him. Her mother.  Whoever could bring her home. We just, followed. She always had a plan for getting back to one of you.”

“What happened?” Jon asked softly, he was looking at him almost eagerly now and Gendry knew he knew as little of her story as him, if not less.

“Yoren was killed. We were taken to Harrenhal as captors, worked ‘til we found a way out. ‘Til she found a way out, that is.” He said, nodding his head at Arya. “That was when we met that one-eyed sodding Lord of Light.”

He leaned forward now, hand on the edge of the straw sack serving as her mattress, “Last I saw her she was storming off into the rain mad as hell at all of us. Me and the brothers. She wanted to head to some castle, the brothers had another plan. I think I ran after her, but-” he leaned back again with a sigh.

“Last I heard the hound had her. Reckon he might know some of the rest.”

His eyes travelled down Arya again and as they did Jon’s followed. There were gaps between the strips across her stomach revealing bits of marred flesh that looked fresh, with recent blood smeared across them, though they were long healed.

It was quiet between them as both men sat with eyes lightly glazed listening to the thrum of activity from the hobbled together infirmary in the next room, the grunts outside from the men wading through the endless wreckage searching for people and prizes, the broken sobs slipping free of the woman bowed over the bed furthest from them.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jon hadn’t looked up from his hands, resting light on the mat beside his sister. He didn’t need to explain the question, just as Gendry didn’t need to explain the answer.

“She was a child when I last saw her. A little lady alone in a great war. What good could it do, to remind you of her?”

Jon nodded slowly, still looking down, “I understand.” He answered. “I assumed she was dead far before you did I suspect.”

“Did she tell you anything?” Gendry asked quietly, little hope that Jon might have some clues to fill in those lost days.

“Not a thing.” Jon looked at him then, a light smile playing sadly on his lips, “She used to tell me every thought.” He looked down again “They used to play across her face.”

He began to stand then, turning to survey the rest of the room. “I’ll see if I can find someone.”

Gendry’s head perked up in response to this. “For what?” he asked, confused.

“To finish tending her.” John said distractedly. “There’s worse out there but we can’t leave her unwrapped much longer.” He was up now readying himself as if to run and glancing back and forth between Arya and the entrance to the room skittishly.

“Those ones on her middle look deep.” He said peering out at the doorway again. “If we’re not careful infection will get her before anything else has a chance.”

Gendry felt confused and partly stunned as his brain struggled to catch up to Jon’s nervous muttering.

It came to him all at once and just as quickly the words were out his mouth before he thought of how to form them.

“Oh. No. No. No.” He was shaking his head emphatically, almost about to grin. “The blood’s fresh but those were there before the battle. They’re old ones.” He said, pointing to the scars he’d seen the night before crossing her stomach and side.

He grabbed a rag from beside her feet and began to gently smear it along the path of the mark just above her belly button, eyes close and hand careful not to disturb her current wrappings. “See?”

He looked up at Jon expected to see relief on his face. Instead her saw the furrowed brow and dark eyes he remembered fearing once before, when they’d first met, when he’d mocked an unknown king and watched that serious look drag all his features down.

He remembered now why he knew Jon as his King. Why he couldn’t shake that feeling from the pit of his stomach no matter who he called ‘Your Grace’.

“When did she get them?” Jon asked, the question had a soft demand to it. He no longer looked grave but angry almost.

“I-“ Gendry shook his head , stuttering a little as he turned to look Jon in the eye in earnest “I don’t know, m’lord.” He looked down to Arya and immediately back up with a start. 

“She didn’t get them from me.” Gods knows what possessed him to say that.

There was a coldness glazing Jon’s features and Gendry gestured his hand toward him with futility.

“I know as much as you do from that time in between.” His voice had an edge of a squeak to it, ridiculous in this sombre setting.

Jon’s face remained resolute as be began circling the cot and approached the side where Gendry was still seated. His steps were measured and calm but his look was unreadable. He lowered himself slowly before Gendry ‘til they were face to face.

“And how did you know,” he asked with a gentle husk to his voice “they were there before today?”


End file.
